


Blessings In Disguise

by ObsidiansChild



Series: The Reformation of Eliot Waugh [6]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24553777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidiansChild/pseuds/ObsidiansChild
Summary: Unresolved issues and Thanksgiving.
Relationships: Alice Quinn/Original Male Character(s), Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: The Reformation of Eliot Waugh [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719526
Comments: 17
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning. I'm going to first apologize for this chapter. It's easily the most angsty part of the series outside of the original installment. My beta and best friend asked for a peek in Joey's life, and this happened. Oops. But I promise it has a happy ending! Just not today. Please be aware of the triggers and take care of yourselves.
> 
> Also, this takes place around two months after the last installment, the day before Thanksgiving.
> 
> This is part of series, and will make very little sense if read as a stand-alone.

_ Quentin _

Quentin was excited that evening when he stepped through the portal from Brakebills into Eliot’s apartment, finding his boyfriend tucked into the corner of the sofa with a glass of wine and Netflix already pulled up.

“You’re early,” he greeted Quentin, looking pleased. 

“I know,” Quentin replied, tossing his messenger bag into an empty chair. “Caroline headed back to Iowa early for the holiday, so I cut out as soon as my regular classes were over.”

Eliot grinned, standing with his glass in hand. “Slacker. I’m going to get a refill, you want?”

“As long it’s not that moscato, sure.” The mention of wine reminded him, and Quentin wasn’t sure how he’d forgotten so quickly. “Hey, we still don’t have plans tomorrow, right?”

“No, I figured we’d just visit your dad or something,” Eliot replied, filling two glasses with something that was red, at least. 

“Yeah, I called him, but he didn’t sound too thrilled with the idea. I, um, think he might be  _ dating  _ someone,” he said as he took a seat in the middle of the sofa. 

Eliot’s eyes snapped up in interest. “You’re joking. Fucking go, Ted. How do you know this?”

“I don’t, but he’s made excuses the last three times I’ve called and he sounded shifty. He also asked me what kind of wine paired well with clams, like I’d know that.”

“Hm, definitely not a ‘you’ question,” Eliot agreed.

“I’m just gonna ask him next time, I think. Thank you,” he said as Eliot handed him one of the glasses and settled next to him. “So, Joey invited us to his grandparents’ house for dinner tomorrow. I told him I’d let him know something tonight, but that I was pretty sure we didn’t have plans.”

Eliot’s glass paused on its way to his lips. “Oh?”

“Yeah, they’re having the whole traditional spread. And pie. It’d just be Joey, Alice and us.”

“And the grandparents,” Eliot added.

“Well, yeah, it’s their house.”

Eliot nodded with a quick lift of his brow, then turned towards the TV. “Do you want to keep watching this  _ Narcos  _ show, or can we try something else? I’m not into it.”

“I don’t care.” Quentin watched the titles scroll across the screen, too quickly for him to really get a look at anything. He sipped at his wine as Eliot pressed the button repeatedly, but after a few minutes, Eliot placed the control on the coffee table, standing and draining his glass on his way back to the kitchen. 

“You can pick something,” he said, pouring another glass nearly to the brim before tossing the bottle into the recycling container. “I can’t really focus right now.”

“Um, okay.” Quentin grabbed the remote as Eliot returned to his side, and watched as he retrieved his phone from the end table, starting to type moments later. “What about  _ Jessica Jones?  _ We never started season two.”

“That’s fine,” he murmured, his attention fixed on his cell. 

Slightly annoyed by Eliot’s disinterest, Quentin started the show, leaning back against the cushions as the other man typed away. He knew it had to be Margo he was talking to at this point. Wicke never texted unless Eliot needed to come into the office, and he would have quickly lost interest in anyone else’s messages.

Quentin was watching the season one recap, completely engrossed by David Tennant on the screen when Eliot spoke.

“Hey, so Margo invited us to a thing.”

He turned from the TV. “What?”

“Her boss, Harriet, is having a party at the Fuzzbeat offices? She said they’re pretty epic. John Stamos showed last Christmas.”

Quentin frowned in confusion. “I… just asked you if we were going to Joey’s?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t commit, did you?”

“I mean, not exactly, but I assumed we’d go. Do you not want to?”

Eliot looked away, sighing. “No, it’s fine. I just thought it’d be fun.”

“Probably, but I’d really rather do the turkey thing, you know? We can go to a party any time. Maybe Christmas?”

Eliot nodded, taking a large swallow from his glass before setting it aside and turning his attention back to his phone. 

Through the length of the episode, Quentin noticed an increasing tension in the room. Eliot paid absolutely no attention to the television. He texted, he disappeared into the bedroom for several minutes, his pace stiff and hurried, and then, even though it had rained all day, he stepped out onto the balcony for a cigarette instead of just filtering the smoke out of the living room. When Quentin glanced out the large windows, he saw his boyfriend pacing, his head bent as he spoke on the phone, flicking and twirling the cigarette in his hand. 

“Was that Margo?” he asked when Eliot stepped back inside. 

“Oh. Um, yeah.” Looking distracted, he picked up the wine glasses from the living room to walk them to the kitchen.

“El, could you maybe stop for a second?” Eliot looked up, his hands moving slowly to set the glasses on the counter. “What’s wrong?”

Eliot sighed, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, Q.”

“No, it’s not. And honestly, I’m not really looking forward to spending the rest of the night with you like this. Did you not fill your Adderall again?”

That got a glare, and Quentin watched Eliot’s lips purse as he drew his finger over the granite countertop. “That was rude.”

“I’m sorry. But I can only guess what’s wrong if you won’t tell me.”

Eliot’s eyes roamed around the room, still not looking at Quentin when he replied. “I guess I just don’t really appreciate you making plans for me without asking.”

Quentin frowned. “I mean… I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. A-And I haven’t told him we’d come for sure yet. We can cancel, El. I just don’t understand why you’re pissed about this, it’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, Q, at your fucking rapist’s parents’ house. No big deal.”

Quentin was stunned, his brow jumping as Eliot shook his head, marching across the living room to throw himself into one of the chairs, lighting a cigarette and practically slapping the pack back onto the coffee table. His sudden anger over this was hard for Quentin to keep up with; he’d  _ never  _ mentioned having an issue with the Davidsons before. 

But taking a moment to think, Quentin realized Eliot had also never  _ met  _ them. He’d been invited, more than once, but had always declined, claiming he was overwhelmed with his thesis or Sunderland. That had been last year, and Quentin had easily accepted those reasons at the time. 

“El… if you had a problem with me talking to them, why did you never say anything?”

Eliot’s brow furrowed, as if the question were ridiculous. “I don’t make your decisions for you.”

“Yeah, but you also don’t  _ talk  _ to me, and I think that’s obviously created a problem, don’t you?”

Eliot lifted both his arms in a “what the fuck” gesture, letting them fall against the arms of the chair. “What is there to talk about, Quentin? What do I have the right to say? You were already best friends with his goddamn nephew before we even knew about it!”

Quentin glared at him incredulously. “So, you have an issue with Joey, too? It’s his fault he literally couldn’t say anything?”

“No!” Eliot shouted in frustration, sitting up in his chair. “It’s just…” He held his hands out before him, his anger making his fingers stiff and straight. “Sometimes. I wish there was one  _ goddamn  _ day I didn’t have to be reminded.  _ One  _ day where things could just be normal. But you have the group, and your work with Sanctum, and  _ Joey,  _ and now I have to go have a family fucking  _ holiday _ over there.”

Eliot could have set him on fire and it would have hurt less. Quentin struggled to keep his features from drawing up, from giving into the tears he was already blinking away. All the work he’d done to be  _ better,  _ the best friend he’d found in the midst of all his pain, the feelings of accomplishment and responsibility he felt towards the other victims, that helped him crawl out of bed on his worst days…

“Well,” Quentin said softly. “I’m sorry the fact I was raped is such a fucking inconvenience for you, El.” 

He didn’t look up to see Eliot’s reaction. He turned to grab his phone and cigarettes instead, stepping around the man, his hands rapidly performing the tuts that would reopen the portal to his dorm room. 

_ “Fuck.  _ Q, that’s not--”

_ “Fuck you,”  _ Quentin growled, choking back a sob as the portal opened, and when he felt Eliot’s fingers on his arm, heard his own name uttered softly, he jerked away, stepping through. 

He broke the portal on the other side, fracturing the magic that had held it in place for months. It would take at least an hour for Eliot to create another one, and he was fairly certain he didn’t have all the needed supplies in his apartment. 

The tears came then, harsh and painful, ugly sobs that tore their way up his throat. What did Eliot want from him? Was he just supposed to stop caring at a certain point? Leave the other victims that they were still finding to this day to fend for themselves? Tell his therapy group, “sorry, I’m cured now”? Could Eliot not understand how important it all was to him?

And then Joey, and his grandparents. How was any of it their fault, what Mark had done? They’d been nothing but supportive and caring. And Joey understood, he was the only person in Quentin’s life who  _ could.  _

Wiping his hands down his face, Quentin worked through a few of his breathing exercises before finding his phone and sending a text to Julia. He didn’t know if she was in her own room or Kady’s tonight, and he didn’t want to intrude. He was relieved when she let him know she was alone for the night, and Quentin grabbed his spare phone charger before leaving the cottage to walk across campus in the twilight. 

Julia’s face fell as soon as she got a good look at him, and she quickly pulled him inside her room, wrapping him in a tight hug. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she pulled away enough to study his face.

“Fight with Eliot,” he admitted quietly. “I just… Can I stay here? I… kind of broke the portal, but there’s a dozen other ways he could chase me down and if I see him right now, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Shit, Q. That bad?” He nodded. “I mean, of course you can stay.” She grinned a little, though her eyes were still weighted with concern. “I don’t think you make the list of people Kady would get jealous over.”

“Gee, thanks,” he laughed tiredly, looking around. “So, do you smoke in here?”

She rolled her eyes, gesturing towards the window with its rose-colored cushioned seat. “Open the window.”

Quentin folded himself in the window nook, cracking the window open before he lit a cigarette. His phone chimed, and he ignored it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Julia asked, sitting on the edge of her bed. 

“No. I mean, I can’t. Not right now.”

“Okay,” she replied after a moment. “I was studying, but if you wanna do something else…”

“It’s fine. You can pretend I’m not here.” He smiled her way. “Honestly, I’m just using you for a hideout.”

She smiled back. “I accept that.”

His phone rang this time, and he glimpsed Margo’s name on the screen before he silenced it, then turned it off altogether, slipping it into the pocket of his hooded shirt. He stared out onto the campus lawn as Julia settled in with her books, but eventually, it was too much to hold in any longer. 

“Jules, what if we break up?”

It was a long moment before she responded. “I don’t know, Q. I don’t know what happened. But… I know you’d be okay. Eventually.”

He nodded. Because he’d learned enough about himself to know that much was true. The “eventually” part of it was large and cumbersome, but he’d survive it. “I… He’s been keeping all this shit from me, heavy shit, and it just exploded out of him. And it kind of feels like a lot of the things that are important to me have always just pissed him off.” 

“Like what?”

Quentin shook his head, shaking another cigarette from his pack and lighting it. “Therapy? Helping with the foundation? Basically anything that’s popped up in my life since Mark raped me.”

“Wait, he  _ said _ that?”

Quentin turned her way. “We got invited to Joey’s for dinner tomorrow,” he explained. “And he got all shifty about it and I didn’t know why. But apparently, he’s held this belief I shouldn’t be around the Davidsons that he never thought was worth mentioning. Because  _ he _ gets tired of being reminded of what happened to  _ me.” _

Julia blinked several times, her lips parted in shock. “Jesus, Q.”

Quentin blinked away tears, not wanting to cry again. His face still ached from the last round. “Yeah. I guess to him, my whole life revolves around it. I could see that getting annoying.”

Julia let out a little noise, almost a laugh but humorless and too short. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kill Eliot so much in my whole life,” she said, sounding surprised. “And that’s a high bar.”

“I mean, is that what I seem like to you?” Quentin asked her, because he honestly wasn’t sure at the moment. “Someone who can’t get over it, so they just drowned themselves in it instead?”

“Q, of  _ course  _ not,” she said, her face pinched with that righteous fury that came so easily to her. “There’s… there’s no ‘getting over it.’ At least, I don’t see how there could be. Don’t you make him doubt yourself for one fucking second. I’m tempted to find Penny and make him take me straight over there right now so I can kick his towering ass.” Her eyes jumped to his waist. “Has he tried calling you?”

“No, it was Margo.”

“So, he’s either called her or they’re together.” Quentin nodded in response. “So, what did you say to him?”

“I didn’t, really, besides telling him to fuck off. I just left.”

“Well, if Margo’s with him, she’ll have that portal up and running again in no time.”

“Exactly why I’m here,” he told her, exhaling smoke out into the dark. 

Julia cursed, lifting her phone from the mattress next to her. “Now she’s calling me. I’m going to reject it.”

“She’ll know I’m here if you do.”

“Yeah, but it won’t give Eliot any comfort that way,” she replied coldly, sliding her thumb across the screen and tossing it aside. 

“So, you don’t think I’m being a coward, hiding in your room?”

She grinned. “Nope. I’d say the ball is completely in your court and your asshole of a boyfriend deserves to stew for the night.”

*

_ Margo _

“El, can you please talk to me?”

Margo hadn’t felt this emotionally exhausted since she’d ended things with Alice and Joey, and even then, it hadn’t come with the shock of finding Eliot sobbing in the middle of his living room floor after she’d received a text that had only contained one word: Argentina. 

And she still didn’t know exactly what was going on. She knew it was bad. She refused to think of how bad.

She’d been immediately horrified when she’d stepped into the apartment to find Eliot surrounded by shattered glass, and it had taken her a moment to realize it had come from the few pieces of art he’d purchased for the bare walls. Worried, she’d texted Quentin, unable to find him, and when she hadn’t received a reply, she’d called. She’d been in no mood to deal with his surly attitude when the call had gone to voicemail, not when Eliot was having a full-blown panic attack in her lap and scaring the shit out of her.

She’d had every intention of dragging his ass back to explain what the fuck had happened. Eliot had called her earlier, not knowing how to vent his frustration to Quentin over his impromptu Thanksgiving plans. But how had that turned into this? 

That’s when she’d realized the portal was gone.

That’s when the quiet voice in the back of her thoughts had started growing louder, whispering that something was wrongwrong _ wrong,  _ but she’d forced herself to remain calm, curling her fingers through Eliot’s hair as she’d swallowed her pride and dialed Joey. 

And he’d sounded surprised to hear from her, but not upset. 

He also hadn’t seen Quentin. 

Next in line was Julia, who had promptly rejected her on the first ring. 

Knowing where Quentin was after that, Margo had focused on Eliot, cleaning the glass from her path and drawing him into her lap, smoothing his hair and pleading with him to breathe until his sobbing gulps for air had quieted into something less alarming, though tears were still leaking from his eyes, even now. His face was pale, his eyes swollen and red. She wanted to get him some water, some weed,  _ something,  _ but she couldn’t bring herself to stop touching him, since he finally seemed aware of her presence, his eyes falling shut a bit with each stroke of her fingers through his curls. 

“El,” she spoke again. “Talk to me. I need to know who to kill here.”

Eliot jerked against her, and she wasn’t sure if he was trying to laugh or cry. “Me,” he whispered, closing his eyes as his brow furrowed deeply, his lips drawing down again.

“Hey, no,” she told him, keeping her tone careful. “If you cry anymore, you’re going to throw up, okay?” After a moment, he nodded. “So, you think you’re the bad guy, I’m taking it?”

“I’m a fucking monster,” he rasped, nuzzling her knee with his forehead. His head was probably killing him. 

“If I give you an Ativan, will you take it?” He shrugged his shoulder, but nodded. “Okay, let me up. Let’s get some water in you.”

Eliot lifted his head enough for Margo to slide out from under him, and she unfolded herself to find her purse, digging for the bottle that held her anxiety medication. She then went to the fridge for a bottle of water and returned to Eliot’s side, gently forcing him to sit up before she handed him both items. He dutifully swallowed the pill and took another drink of water before trying to hand it back to her, his eyes focused on the floor. 

“Uh-uh. You’re finishing that. And telling me what the fuck happened. Also, if you ever scare me like that again and someone’s not dead, I swear to God.” She left the threat unfinished. 

Eliot took another drink, sighing as he settled the bottle between his legs. “I think…” His lips trembled before he got control of them. “I think I fucked it up, Bambi. I think it’s over.”

Margo’s eyes widened slightly, and she took a deep breath as that nagging whisper in her head went silent, having been proven right. This was something she’d never thought to prepare for. Q and Eliot were endgame. “El, what the fuck happened?”

And finally, Eliot told her.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! My only real note from this chapter is about the dog show mentioned. Every year for Thanksgiving, my family actually does watch the Westminster dog show before we eat. It happened by accident years ago, and slowly became a tradition, and anyone who gets invited to eat with us thinks we're weird as hell. Hope you enjoy!

_ Quentin _

Quentin was exhausted when Julia’s alarm went off the following morning, yawning hugely and wincing at the soreness in his shoulders. He’d been smashed against the wall all night because his best friend of the female persuasion was an absolute bed hog. He didn’t know how he’d forgotten that from their childhood sleepovers  _ or  _ from all the times she’d passed out drunk in his bed at their old apartment. 

Julia sat up and turned the alarm off, stretching her arms over her head with a happy little moan like she’d just experienced the best sleep of her life. Quentin glared at her back. 

“You want your phone?” 

He sighed. “Yeah, it’s probably time.” He took it from her hand, pressing the power button and waiting. He was surprised when everything loaded and he only had two texts from Margo and one from Eliot. 

_ “Margo: _

_ What the fuck happened? 5:48 PM” _

_ “Margo: _

_ Look. I love you. And El is on my shit list and he knows it. But if you’re done with him, please let me know first. 1:26 AM” _

_ “Eliot: _

_ Q, I’m so sorry. I love you. I don’t think you’ll forgive me. I just needed to tell you. 10:02 PM”  _

It was easier than he imagined to respond, but maybe that was because it was true. Maybe not smart, or easy, but true.

_ “I love you too.” _

Quentin left Julia’s room after a long hug and a promise to keep her updated, walking across campus with his wrinkled clothes and his bed hair (and honestly not standing out at all, considering it was peak walk of shame/stride of pride hour for Brakebills). 

He’d barely started crossing the Sea when his phone vibrated in his hand.  _ “I don’t deserve that,”  _ was Eliot’s response. 

Quentin smiled sadly, looking ahead to make sure his path was clear of obstacles before continuing on his way while responding.  _ “It’s not like I can help it either way.” _

_ “Are you coming back?” _

_ “I don’t know. I’m still going to Joey’s for dinner, I told him last night. I don’t want to fight with you today. I’m still really upset. Maybe tomorrow?” _

_ “I don’t want to fight. What time do you need to be there?” _

_ “Noon. They don’t eat until 2 but they have this weird ritual of watching some dog show every year before dinner.” _

_ “Wow okay. Would you at least stop by? I won’t keep you.” _

Quentin let out a heavy breath. He still felt very emotionally charged, and he could already think of several scenarios that could possibly set him off. What if Eliot tried to put a band-aid on things with sex? What if he asked him not to go to the Davidsons once he was there? What if he just groveled and still refused to admit he had fucking issues regarding Quentin’s decisions?

_ “I broke the portal,”  _ he replied. 

_ “Margo made a new one last night. It’s fine.” _

Well, shit.  _ “Okay, but just for a minute. I have to get ready.” _

_ “Thank you.” _

Once he reached his bedroom, Quentin took a few deep breaths, trying to prepare himself even though he knew Eliot wasn’t exactly predictable when strong emotions were in play. Opening the portal with a few gestures, he stepped through to find it had been moved about six inches to the left on the apartment side.

Eliot was on the sofa, his hair wet, and he was dressed in a satin bathrobe. But Quentin noticed he also had pajama pants on, so maybe seduction wasn’t in his boyfriend’s plans. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Quentin replied, crossing the floor to sink into one of the chairs across from him. Eliot didn’t look disappointed by Quentin’s choice to remain somewhat distant, and it was clear he was focused on whatever he was preparing to say. He honestly seemed terrified. 

“So. I want to apologize,” he began, glancing down towards the coffee table as his fingers traced over the sleeve of his robe. “But I know that it won’t mean anything if I can’t be honest about why it happened in the first place.” Quentin nodded in agreement when Eliot dared to look at him. “And I need to say right now that I wouldn’t really be ready to admit to any of this if Margo hadn’t had her little come-to-Jesus talk with me last night,” he confessed with a sad laugh. “I know Bambi is always creative in her swearing, but she reached new heights last night in your defense, so don’t ever doubt her devotion to you.”

Quentin suppressed a laugh of his own. “Is that right?”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I believe the term ‘self-absorbed, soul-swallowing corn-fucker’ was used at one point,” he said in an even tone. 

“That… is creative,” Quentin admitted, blinking.

“Anyway, nothing she said at any point was untrue.”

“And what did she say?”

Eliot met his eye again, and Quentin could tell it was a struggle for him to stay there. “I… I thought it was ridiculous at first, but she thinks I should talk to someone. A professional?” Quentin’s expression went slack in quiet shock, because if Margo had gotten that real with Eliot, she must have been absolutely livid. “And I  _ laughed  _ at her, because nothing happened to  _ me, _ right? I had to have her spell it out to me like a fucking child that—as far as I’m concerned—you  _ are  _ a part of me. And that I’m trying to do what I always do with any part of me that gets fucking hurt, which is guard it like a rabid dog.” 

Eliot was fighting tears, his expression tense and almost angry looking, and Quentin wanted to cross the space between them because it suddenly hurt to not be touching him. But while the words were meaningful, they wouldn’t solve anything on their own. 

“I don’t want to be that person, Q. I don’t want you to have to think of me any time you make a decision. I think I’m selfish enough without adding that to mix. And I didn’t mean to make you think I don’t respect everything you do. I’ve been nothing but proud of you from day one. I just… I don’t understand  _ how  _ you do it. And it’s so hard to ignore that part of me that just wants to hide you from… from anything that could hurt. And you’re always running straight at things that could.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… I don’t know exactly what happens in therapy, but I know you must talk about it. That’s the point, right? And you hear other people talk, and you have to be constantly reminded of what happened. But you go willingly, and I don’t... “ He shook his head, his eyes falling shut. “Q, I can barely think about it, even now.” He looked up again, eyes full of guilt. “I’ve always been… disgustingly grateful I’m not the person you choose for that. Because I couldn’t stand it. And I could never admit that, because it didn’t even fucking _happen to me._ And once a week, you’re just ripping the scabs off and letting everyone take a look, just in case it might help them. And then you probably do it again anytime you’re asked to interview a Sanctum applicant. And I don’t know how many times I’ve walked in on you and Joey talking about it, and I just want to shake the both of you because _why?”_ He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The first time you told me you were going to visit his grandparents, do you remember that?” 

Quentin chewed at his lip. “I know you said you were busy, but you were asleep when I got back.”

“No, Q. I was passed out when you got back. I had to drink down the urge to follow you through that portal and spy on you through the windows like some psychotic stalker, because I was fucking  _ convinced _ it was all some elaborate set up and you’d  _ disappear.” _ His chin trembled.

“Eliot…” He honestly hadn’t realized Eliot’s issues ran that deep, and felt deeply shamed for not recognizing it. 

“So… yeah, I guess with Mark, and the anchor spells, there’s some trauma? And I feel fucking selfish for it, but I don’t want to lose you by lying about it.”

“It’s not selfish, El.”

“Isn’t it? Nothing--”

“Don’t say nothing happened to you again,” Quentin told him, leaving his chair to settle next to Eliot on the sofa, rubbing his hand down the satin covering his back. “The same  _ thing  _ didn’t happen. But you went through something. And… I think it’d be good if you did talk to someone about it.”

Eliot nodded, his hands clasped together on his knees. “I will. I promise.” He turned his head a little towards Quentin, but not enough to meet his eye. “Can we… are we okay? I know not entirely, but…”

“We’ll be okay,” Quentin promised. “If you try, we’ll be fine.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Kiss me.”

He heard Eliot’s trembling sigh of relief just before their lips met. It was brief and careful, but both were smiling as they pulled apart. “Can I ask you something?” Eliot’s voice was timid.

“Sure.”

“I fully expect you to say no, and I respect that.”

“El… you’re not going to ask me to bail, are you?”

Eliot hurriedly shook his head. “No. I just… I don’t really want to spend Thanksgiving away from you. And I know you probably don’t trust me around any of them right now, but… I want to try. I know in my logical brain they can’t be bad people. And I do like Joey, whatever I made it sound like last night. I can’t say I’ll be quite up to playing the part of my usual charming self, but I’d like to go. If you’ll let me.”

Quentin slowly smiled. “Wow, you really are going to try, aren’t you?”

Eliot gave him a weary look. “Don’t make fun. Last night easily made the top five of ‘memories to chug laudenum to’ and I’m including Indiana in that list.”

“Your casual overdose references still aren’t funny,” Quentin kindly reminded him, trying to tuck his curls back from his face and failing. 

“But they are less frequent,” Eliot reminded him back. 

Quentin laughed silently, shaking his head. “I’m fine with you going, El. Just let me make sure it’s okay with Joey; I already told him you weren’t coming.” He shot off a quick text to his friend before placing his phone on the table. “Will you check?” he asked, standing up. “I need to get in the shower.”

“Mm-hm. Kiss me again?”

Quentin smiled, bending down to catch Eliot’s lips, and this time there was a little more confidence in his boyfriend’s touch before he pulled back. “Okay, you have ass mouth. Take care of that, please,” he requested sweetly.

“You’re a dick,” Quentin laughed, relieved to feel almost normal again. 

*

_ Eliot _

Quentin and Eliot had missed going through the portal with Joey and Alice, so they arrived alone at the door to the Davidsons’ house, promptly at noon. Eliot stood back, trying to quell his nerves as Quentin rang the doorbell, and followed after his boyfriend when Joey greeted them, waving them inside with a “Jesus, Eliot, what are you even wearing?”

Eliot arched his brow at Joey’s ensemble, a tattered Misfits shirt and jeans so tight they could be considered leggings. Eliot himself was wearing a fitted burgundy sateen suit and had accessorized with a paisley cravat. “It’s Thanksgiving,” was all he offered in explanation. I mean, really, what was he confused about?

“God, it already smells amazing,” Quentin commented as they stepped through the sizable entryway. Eliot noticed the Davidsons had an obvious fondness for plantlife; there were at least half a dozen in view, and more in the artwork displayed on the walls. Even the stripes of the wallpaper were subtle vines of ivy. 

“Yeah, Pops has been in the kitchen for hours,” Joey said, swinging a left into a large den area. Eliot saw Alice seated on a beige sectional next to a woman that didn’t look a day over fifty, with long, coppery hair and a generous mouth. Wondering who else had been invited, Eliot waited to be introduced. 

The woman’s eyes widened as they fixed on him and she laughed. “Oh, you  _ must  _ be Eliot,” she said eagerly, standing from her seat to hold out her hand, wrist bent. 

Eliot took it lightly, nodding his head, a bit at sea. “Mrs. Davidson?” he asked, prepared to be embarrassed. 

“Oh, you can just call me Gran. Or Barbara, if you prefer. Just not Babs.” She withdrew her hand with a grimace. “My mom called me that, I still hate it.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” he assured her, also reminding himself to ask the woman about her skincare regimen. Jesus Christ.

“Oh, Quentin, look at you,” she exclaimed, opening her arms for a hug. “I see your boyfriend made you put on something that almost fits.”

“Yeah,” Quentin laughed, tugging at his navy sweater once she released him. 

“Okay, so the show just started,” she informed them, returning to her seat next to Alice. “There’s wine in the kitchen, just don’t get between Henry and the food. But hurry, you’ll miss the Herding group; it’s my favorite.”

Alice’s brow wrinkled. “I thought you said the Toy group was your favorite?”

Barbara flapped her hand. “For cuteness, yes, but the Herding group is much more diverse.”

“She’s three glasses in,” Joey mumbled, pulling at Eliot’s arm to lead him out of the room. “I’ll show you where they keep the booze.”

Eliot was led through a dining room, also full of plants. And sketches of plants, and paintings of plants… “Okay, what’s with the plants?” he asked.

“Oh,” Joey laughed. “They were both Nature students at Brakebills; botany. It’s how they met.”

Nodding with satisfaction over a mystery solved, Eliot continued towards the kitchen after Joey, where he saw a man who he could believe was actually in his sixties at the stove. But when he turned, he was still very handsome, lending credence to Joey’s (and even Mark’s) handsome features. “Pops, this is Eliot. Eliot, Pops.”

The man rolled his dark eyes. “Henry,” he offered. “Quentin’s beau, correct?”

He had a strangely soothing voice. Eliot smiled. “Correct. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Jay, you’re free to open anything in there, but maybe hide the Mayacamas? Your gran’s gonna go after it next if you don’t, and I’m saving that.”

Joey chuckled, “Sure thing.” He pulled a few of the darkest bottles from the cabinet to glance at the labels before retrieving one and hiding it in the nearby pantry behind a stack of oatmeal boxes. “Take your pick,” he told Eliot.

Eliot shook his head. “Anything’s fine.”

Joey shrugged, pulling a bottle and placing it on the counter, looking at Eliot in expectation. Realizing he was waiting for the cork to be popped, Eliot arched an annoyed brow before tugging at the cork with his magic and catching it in his hand. “Happy?”

Joey smirked. “Hadn’t seen it in a while, is all.” He turned to retrieve glasses from a nearby cabinet. 

“How  _ is  _ the party scene in my absence?” Eliot wondered. “Q never really mentions it.”

“Probably because it’s so depressing. I mean, we’re too busy anyway, but I’m pretty sure there were kegs of Bud Light when I walked through the kitchen this morning.” Filling four glasses, he left the bottle on the counter and handed two to Eliot, taking the other two for himself as they made their way back to the others. “So, you’re here. And I was told you wouldn’t be. There a story to that?”

“Mm. Q and I may have had a slight argument last night.” It sounded much better than  _ I had a black out panic attack and my best friend had to drug me.  _ “We’re better now.”  _ But only because said best friend yelled at me until I cried again and agreed to pay someone to listen to me cry repeatedly in the future. _

“Glad to hear it. I was wondering if you’d ever step foot in here.”

And that slowed Eliot’s step a bit. “Um.”

“It’s fine, man. I get it. Trust me, we’ve got our own issues. There’s not a single picture of him in the house, even.”

“Oh.” 

They entered the den again, and Joey left him to take an open seat between Quentin and Alice, easily joining their line of discussion like the conversation he’d just left hadn’t even occurred, handing over the wine glasses to the women with a grin.

Eliot sat at Quentin’s other side, offering him one of the glasses before sampling his own. It was peppery and exotic. Possibly a syrah, which Quentin tended to enjoy.  _ Fucking Joey,  _ he thought, biting back a smile. 

The entertainment factor of watching a dog show on Thanksgiving soon surprised Eliot. The dogs themselves weren’t all that interesting, but the potential for color commentary was plentiful, and soon Eliot found himself laughing at the voices Joey and even Alice were creating for some of the dogs and the fake judge’s voice that Barbara adopted, her comments growing more ridiculous as time passed until she finally cut herself off from any more wine. 

Henry announced dinner was ready only a few minutes after two, and Eliot let Quentin lead the way into the dining room, taking a seat at his side as Joey helped his grandfather walk everything to the table. There was turkey, of course. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Green beans. Corn. Yeast rolls. But then, the men added several other smaller dishes to the table, none of which Eliot recognized.

Seeing the quizzical look on his face, Barbara smiled. “Did you fail botany, Eliot?” she asked with a teacher’s tone. 

“I… may have skipped a time or two,” he admitted, though the truth was he may have  _ attended  _ a time or two. Josh had been more than happy to help him pass the class.

She smiled. “I won’t quiz you today, then. That,” she pointed to something that resembled a sliced beet, only it was turquoise, “is a palate cleanser. The one with the red stripes will make you feel less full, but don’t abuse it. And the green one down there is just to make you giggle. When you come back, though, you better be able to tell me the names for all three.”

Eliot smiled, appreciating the gentle authority in Barbara’s tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Conversation was muted for the first few minutes of the meal, as plates were filled and food was eaten and complimented. But as the food disappeared, talk picked up, and Eliot slowly realized how much of Quentin’s life he’d really been absent from. 

For one, he’d had no idea the Davidsons were so involved with Sanctum. Both were retired, and they’d apparently thrown themselves into helping Brakebills with organizing the foundation. Eliot listened as they recounted many of the victims currently staying on campus by name. They knew which ones had agreed to be tested or retested for admission to the university, and ones that had gotten on their feet and left to pursue their lives again with renewed purpose. Listening to the sadder stories of others that weren’t progressing so well, Eliot learned that this was Quentin’s main point of interest, where he spent most of his time when it came to the foundation. He listened as Quentin quietly admitted his pleasure over convincing one of the newer hedges to join them at therapy, and Barbara beamed proudly at him. 

“Was it one of Penny’s?” she asked. “That dear man, he just has a way with the troubled ones, doesn’t he?” Eliot wasn’t the only one to glance at Quentin, awaiting his reaction. Joey looked positively giddy for it, and even Alice was smirking.

Quentin nodded, pasting on a fake smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard he’s good. I don’t get many chances to talk to him, though.”

“I can understand that. He really just gets them in the door;  _ you  _ help make sure they don’t walk back out.”

Eliot looked to his plate, pushing the last few bites of beans around with his fork and feeling like an asshole. Quentin had ever only mentioned anything regarding Sanctum in passing, and he’d never realized how committed he was to it. He wondered how many times Quentin had stopped himself from sharing this huge part of life, trying to spare Eliot from having to acknowledge it. It made the knowledge of how deeply his words the night before must have cut painfully real, and Eliot was suddenly hard-pressed not to start weeping right there at the table.

“Who wants pie?” Barbara asked, standing up and smirking at Quentin. “There’s cherry this time.” Joey immediately started singing Warrant under his breath, and his grandmother balled up a linen napkin and threw it at him without even looking. 

Quentin hopped up from his seat to assist Barbara in the kitchen, and Eliot felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. Grateful for a distraction, he pulled it from his pocket, smiling in surprise when he saw Kara had texted him. 

Opening the message, he laughed to see the picture attached, a selfie of Kara with Amanda in her lap, both of them with a dot of mashed potatoes on their noses.  _ “Happy Turkey Day!” _ the message read. 

“Q, come here,” Eliot called, waiting for Quentin to appear, three small pie plates balanced in his hands. He handed off two to Joey and Alice before returning to his seat. 

“Did you want pie? I would have, you just usually--”

“No, dear. Look.” He turned his phone, watching as Quentin smiled at the photo. Joey hopped up to peek over his shoulder, soon followed by Alice. 

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“El’s niece and sister-in-law,” Quentin explained before looking to Eliot. “We should send one back.”

Eliot nodded and they moved to position themselves in a way that would capture them both on Eliot’s phone, smiling as he snapped the photo and sent it. 

_ “Nice suit, pretty boy,”  _ was Kara’s reply. 

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! Enjoy some smut!

_ Eliot _

It was growing late when Eliot and Quentin stepped into his living room. He hadn’t expected to remain at the Davidsons’ after the meal, but Barbara had insisted on after dinner drinks, and then Joey had found that  _ Planes, Trains, and Automobiles  _ was showing on one of the satellite channels, part of some Thanksgiving themed movie marathon. He’d been offended that neither Eliot or Quentin had ever seen it, so they hadn’t been allowed to leave after that. Steve Martin and John Candy had been followed by Pauly Shore in  _ Son-In-Law,  _ and during that, Eliot had started receiving photos from Margo, who was at the Fuzzbeat office party. Since most of them were selfies, it was easy to watch his best friend growing increasingly drunker with each message. 

His phone chimed again from his pocket as Eliot walked to the kitchen to place the covered pie Barbara had gifted them with before they’d left on the counter. 

“What did she send this time?” Quentin asked, wrapping his arms around Eliot from behind. He shifted in the embrace, folding his arm back over Quentin’s shoulder as he retrieved his cell and opened the message.

This one was a video, and it was clear someone else had taken it since Margo was visible in the thumbnail. Playing it, Eliot and Quentin were cackling in seconds as they watched the petite brunette clumsily execute the moves to “Crank That” by Soulja Boy, an older blonde woman moving through the steps at her side, both of them laughing as they attempted the dance.

“What the fuck?” Quentin wheezed, tears in his eyes as the video ended.

“Oh my God, I’m sending this to everyone we’ve  _ ever  _ met the next time she pisses me off,” Eliot sighed happily, setting his phone aside. “And possibly playing it at her wedding.”

“You think Margo will get married?” Quentin asked, still a little breathless from his laughing fit.

“Hm.” Eliot turned more to lean back against the counter, pulling Quentin against him by the waist. “A year ago, I definitely would have said no. But now?” He shrugged. “Who really knows? I’ve been a little lost with predicting Bambi since she went and fell for Hoberman.”

Quentin looked up at him with a tipsy grin, obviously wanting something, and Eliot was thrilled by it, completely aware that just hours ago, Quentin might have decided he never wanted anything from Eliot ever again. He brought his hands up to frame his boyfriend’s neck, smiling down at him. “So, how did I do today?”

Quentin’s gaze filled with intent. “I could show you,” he offered.

“Oh? Well, that sounds… promising,” Eliot said, his smile turning pleased. “But can I say something before I enthusiastically let you have your way with me?”

“I can allow that,” Quentin replied with a grin. 

“Okay, um. I know I said I was sorry earlier, but…” It was hard to hold Quentin’s gaze for this, but he tried, because he’d promised he would. “Q, I want you to be able to talk to me. I didn’t… I didn’t really get how much I was making you hold back. I’m sorry. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to do that.”

Quentin gave him the tenderest look in return, his lip trembling a bit as he stood on tiptoe to capture Eliot’s lips, pulling him down to meet him. 

The kiss very quickly grew heated, Eliot remembering he’d almost lost any chance of having this again, and Quentin seemed just as desperate to reclaim him, his teeth clumsy and sharp against Eliot’s mouth as he pulled the shirt from Eliot’s pants, trying to yank his suit jacket off at the same time. 

Clothes and shoes were quickly strewn across the floor between gasping kisses and grasping hands, and Eliot closed the shades of the large windows with a thought, backing Quentin towards the sofa. 

“Um, bed?” Quentin mumbled against his chin.

“Too far,” Eliot rasped, turning to fall back onto the cushions and jerking Quentin’s boxers down his legs before swallowing his cock in one motion. Quentin arched against his mouth, his hand curved against Eliot’s skull as he gasped sharply, almost falling forward. Eliot covered Quentin’s hand with his own and he understood, holding Eliot in place as he began to thrust into his mouth. 

Eliot groaned, pulling at his own cock as he encouraged Quentin to fuck his mouth, his free hand grasping Quentin’s ass, kneading the muscles as they tensed and relaxed within his grip, reveling in every small sound that escaped his boyfriend’s lips. He’d almost lost this, almost  _ lost  _ this.

It suddenly wasn’t enough; he needed more of Quentin, needed all of him, and he released his cock to pull the man down into his lap, wetting his fingers with magic before working them inside his ass. “Fuck, Eliot,” Quentin breathed, his lips parting as he looked down at Eliot, his eyes dark and looking almost surprised like he sometimes did, like his own pleasure was a shock.

“Feel good, baby?”

Quentin nodded, his thumbs moving to circle Eliot’s nipples. “Missed you,” he breathed.

“Me too,” Eliot promised, leaning up to lick into Quentin’s mouth as he worked him open, a little roughly in his impatience. Quentin didn’t seem to mind, biting softly at Eliot’s mouth as his hands encircled his neck. He never applied pressure unless Eliot asked, but it was a favorite place for him to rest his hands. 

Eventually, Eliot removed his fingers, holding his cock for Quentin to sink down on. He held his boyfriend’s hips after sliding in that first couple of inches, letting him adjust before giving him more. Sometimes Eliot enjoyed getting a little rough for this part, and sometimes Quentin  _ loved  _ it, but he didn’t want that tonight. Quentin, always so intuitive of everything Eliot wanted, was happy to oblige as they kissed, and let him know with subtle movements when he wanted more. Eliot gave it until Quentin’s ass was resting on his thighs, his eyes falling shut as he went completely still.

“You alright?” Eliot asked, brushing the hair from his face.

“Uh-huh. Just… taking a sec.”

Eliot chuckled softly. “For what?”

Quentin looked at him with soft eyes. “To realize you did ruin me for anyone else,” he whispered. 

It took Eliot a moment to recall his own words, said so long ago, but before he could react, Quentin was kissing him again, moving in his lap. 

“Q, you shouldn’t… say things like that,” he managed to respond after a moment when he was given a chance to breathe. 

“Why?” Quentin leaned away enough to study Eliot’s face, holding it between his hands as Eliot thrust shallowly inside him. His pupils were absolutely blown already, but he still seemed present, somehow. “It’s true.”

“Quentin…” It hurt too much to think that through all his fucking up, Quentin now only felt the need to declare his commitment more fully.

“El, you’re it for me,” he whispered, and when Eliot tried to turn his eyes away, going still, Quentin held him in place. “You’re a part of me, too. Okay?”

He nodded, tears springing to his eyes, but when Quentin thrust against his belly, Eliot moved with him, allowing him to hold the eye contact although it was almost physically painful for him to see the staggering amount of love in Quentin’s eyes and know it was for him, even after what he’d done.

Soon, Quentin was backing up against his thrusts, still staring into Eliot’s eyes even as he began to whimper and moan. It was intoxicating to study Q’s face in such detail as he fucked him, to see him so vulnerable and knowing Quentin  _ wanted  _ him to see it, that he trusted him with it. 

But that meant Quentin could see him too, and that was more difficult to accept. He curled his hand around Quentin’s cock, trying to distract his boyfriend from his intense focus, but his eyes only shut briefly before they locked on Eliot’s again, and he twisted his hips in that devilish way he had, drawing a low groan from Eliot’s lips. “You love me, El?”

Eliot looked pleadingly into Quentin’s eyes. “You know…”

“Tell me?”

He said it so sweetly, knowing exactly what he was fucking doing, and Eliot thrust up into him roughly in response. Quentin grunted, smiling. “You can do  _ that  _ all you want, but I still want you to tell me.”

“Q, please.” His hand quickened its pace on Quentin’s cock, anything to prevent Quentin from laying him bare in this moment. He could tell him later, could  _ show  _ him somehow. He knew he needed it, deserved it, but...

“That’s good, too,” Quentin sighed, but still didn’t release him. “You wanna bounce me?”

“Fuck you,” Eliot gasped, almost laughing.

“Kind of the point, yeah. You gonna tell me?”

And Eliot shoved his hips up from the sofa, holding Quentin in place as he set a more punishing pace. Quentin squirmed, gasping, but only held Eliot’s face more firmly between his hands. “I love you, Eliot.”

“Q.”

He let out a wounded cry as Eliot pounded into him. “I love you.”

_ “Quentin.” _

“Say it, El.  _ Please?” _

And that broke him, that little plea, and Eliot sobbed as he stared into Quentin’s eyes. “I love you, okay?  _ Fuck, _ Q, I love you.”

Quentin kissed him bruisingly in reward, but only for a moment before he leaned back again, still intent on watching every twitch of Eliot’s face. “See, the world didn’t end,” he whispered, the words mocking but his voice so, so tender, just before his brow furrowed as Eliot stroked him roughly with his hand. “Fuck.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “This still okay?” he asked, his hands lightly pressing against Eliot’s face. “I wanna watch you.”

“Yeah, I… I like watching you, too. I wanna see you come for me, okay?”

“‘Kay.” Quentin moved one hand, pressing his fingers against Eliot’s lips with a questioning glance, and Eliot smiled, tilting enough to allow him to slip them inside his mouth, sucking and licking as Quentin's eyes rolled. “Oh  _ fuck,  _ Eliot.”

Eliot met his gaze with heat once he was able to focus again, and he watched as Quentin slowly began to fall apart as Eliot fucked him,  _ watched  _ him be fucked, watched him struggle to keep his eyes open, his lashes fluttering and lips parting. 

Eliot turned his head enough for Quentin’s fingers to fall from his mouth. “You still with me, baby?”

“Yeah.” It was little more than a whine. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Eliot told him. “You wanna come for me?”

There was a strange tapping sound from somewhere across the room, but Eliot couldn’t give it any attention, not when Quentin was so flushed, his lips so swollen and wet and his eyes almost black with lust.

“Yeah, fuck me harder,” Quentin told him.

_ “Yes,”  _ Eliot sighed raggedly, gripping his hips and lifting himself from the sofa.

“Holy  _ shit!” _

A choked sound caught in Eliot’s throat, and his eyes flared wide as he glimpsed Margo over Quentin’s shoulder. His hands gripped harder onto Quentin’s hips as the man began trying to flee with Eliot still firmly seated inside him, clenching his cock in a way that was borderline painful. Unable to escape that way, Quentin shoved his face into Eliot’s neck as Margo cackled merrily, giving them a very appreciative once over before turning and disappearing into the portal she’d just stepped out of.

Quentin was breathing harshly against his skin, shocked and mortified, and it took everything in Eliot not to start laughing. “Q, she’s gone,” he promised, the sharp alarm he’d felt quickly fading. 

“I don’t… fuck,” he panted. “I can’t believe she saw me like…”

“I know, baby.” Eliot rubbed his hand down his spine, trying to soothe him.

“I was so  _ close,”  _ he whimpered, his forehead resting against Eliot’s shoulder. 

“Oh, we'll still get there.”

“Are you joking? There’s no way I can--”

“Are you sure?” he interrupted, his fingers curling around Quentin’s cock, which was still rigid. “Because this says you can.”

Quentin’s breath caught in his throat as Eliot slowly began to jerk him off again. “El, I…”

“I know you, Q. You’re embarrassed, but you can’t tell me a little part of you doesn’t love the thought of Margo seeing you spread open for me.” He tightened his grip and Quentin exhaled shakily against his neck. “I want you to move for me, okay?”

“Eliot…”

“Now, please.”

Eliot forced himself not to grin as Quentin slowly shifted his hips, his lips placing a wet kiss on Eliot’s shoulder. “My good boy,” he whispered, running his free hand over Quentin’s hair as he thrust up into him again, reveling in the soft sigh he heard in response. “I’m glad Bambi saw how perfect you are for me.”

_ “Eliot.” _

“Mm, you want me to shut up?” Quentin didn’t respond, and Eliot smirked, running his thumb over the underside of his cock. “Tell me, Q.”

“D-Don’t,” he whispered, thrusting into Eliot’s hand. “Don’t shut up.”

“I thought so. You like being good for me, baby?” he asked as he set a steady rhythm that nearly lifted Quentin from the sofa with each thrust.

_ “Yes.” _

“Kiss me, then.”

Quentin immediately moved to obey, his lips desperate against Eliot’s and his eyes rolled as Quentin’s hand gripped at the base of his throat, pressing him back against the sofa and holding him there as he kissed down his chin and across his jaw. “Be rough with me, Q.”

Quentin complied, his hand fisting in Eliot’s hair, forcing him to arch his neck as Eliot held him firmly against his chest, using his feet for leverage as he thrust into Quentin’s ass, causing him to cry out and bite at Eliot’s neck. “Yes, like that. Mark me.”

He almost laughed when Quentin moved to bite him somewhere that wouldn’t be quite so visible when he returned to work tomorrow, his teeth sinking into Eliot’s shoulder instead as he pulled more roughly at his hair. Eliot began to fuck Quentin in earnest then, shivering as his thighs started to tremble. Quentin got the message and batted Eliot’s hand away from his cock, taking it for himself because Eliot really couldn’t hope to best the master at that, at least. And he loved to watch him work, anyway. He tried to hold off as Quentin jerked himself off, but just seeing it was almost enough to send him over the edge, his breath leaving him in quickening pants as he watched the head of Quentin’s cock slide through his fingers as he pumped himself. 

“El, El,  _ now,” _ Quentin whined and Eliot thrust quickly into him, crying out as he watched Q’s come spill across his stomach, watched his mouth fall open and his back arch. Eliot followed him seconds later, groaning loudly as he tensed all over, laughing just a little when the final wave of it passed through him and Quentin collapsed against his chest. 

“Fuck,” Quentin panted into his neck, his hands brushing gently down Eliot’s arms as he moved to allow Eliot to pull out of him. “Not that I ever want to fight like that again, but making up is… nice.”

Eliot hummed. “Agreed.” Sated and happy, he felt his devious streak rising in him. “Want me to call Margo and have her come back?”

Quentin sat up, glaring at him, but then seemed to have an idea, arching his eyebrow. “You know, why  _ don’t  _ you call her? We’ll see who actually calls that off first.”

Eliot gaped at his boyfriend’s audacity. “Quentin, are you suggesting I’m possessive?  _ Me?” _

Quentin giggled, a rare thing, and carefully stood from the sofa to walk naked towards the kitchen, stepping over their discarded clothes on their way. “Where are you going?” Eliot asked. 

“Seeing if she felt like explaining why she felt the need to build a goddamn portal in the middle of her office party,” he replied, picking up Eliot’s phone and walking back to the couch with it. He stopped before he sat down, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh. Well, I wouldn’t have let you leave with her anyway, so moot point.” 

Eliot’s brow furrowed in confusion as Quentin passed the phone to him and he gaped when he saw the photo on the screen of Margo posing with James Spader. “Oh, my…” Realizing what Quentin had just said, he turned sharply towards his boyfriend. “And excuse me,  _ who  _ exactly is possessive in this room?”

Quentin shrugged as he sat down next to Eliot. “I never claimed not to be.”

Eliot shook his head, scrolling down to see Margo’s second message.

_ “Your loss. But can’t say I blame you.”  _

She’d added a winking emoji.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
